


Losing It

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-15
Updated: 2001-03-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Late night and Mulder's musing how nice it would be to have Krycek at his mercy - but be careful what you wish for...





	Losing It

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Losing It by Jami Wilsen

Date: 10/26/2000  
Title: Losing It  
Disclaimer: characters (god help them) belong to CC and 1013 Productions.  
Author - send feedback to:   
Pairing: M/K slash, angst, h/c  
Rating: NC-17, for m/m interaction, sex, Bondage and language.  
Setting: Sometime after Biogenesis  
Spoilers: up until then (Biog.) but before Requiem-season 7 end  
Summary: Late night and Mulder's musing how nice it would be to have Krycek at his mercy - but be careful what you wish for...  
Warning: This is pathetic, unredeemable PWP slashy schmoop. I don't know *what* possessed me. I'm sorry. [g]  
Also: beware POV change from Mulder-monologue in beginning to free-for-all narration...  
Betas: beloved Cattnip (my love!) and Lauren (wild tigress!)

* * *

Losing It  
by Jami Wilsen

It's nights like this that probably contribute to my reputation as a crank, a nerd, an oddball. Instead of 'hittin the clubs' and getting a date, I'm sitting at home watching Godzilla.

Not that it's a bad movie, not at all. I just wonder how many American citizens have dutifully filed into cinemas, not knowing that they're subjecting themselves to the programming of subliminal acclimatization to reptilian forms. Mention Godzilla and everyone nods wisely. Talk about underground bases in New Mexico and reptoids stalking Denver Airport and suddenly you're a crazy freak threatening the status quo.

Christ, you'd think people would start to get it by now, what with all the 'little gray' hype. The dolls, the inflatable chairs, the keychains and the matching tableware sets. The thing that made me laugh was the little embryos in the eggs - gray hybrids in fluid - aimed at 6-year-olds for the last two Christmases.

Doesn't exactly make great small talk either; I've yet to find anyone who wants to discuss even hypothetically the existence of multi- species visitations in a coherent fashion over dinner. Or even after dinner. Let alone a bar. No one. Male *or* female. Come to think of it, when was the last time I had a date? Hm, let's see. Jesus, the last person to kiss me was Krycek... There's something ironic about that.

Bastard. That goddamned lying rat-bastard traitor. And coward; he never comes clean with me. Always slinks away after dangling carrots in front of me and snatching them away when I reach out for them. Throws crumbs in my direction occasionally. The cryptic, self-serving, rat. Funny, I can actually say that without anger, matter-of-fact. Because it is a fact. Sometimes he looks more like a devil, actually. Or a wild animal. Like most killers, I suppose one has to know how to handle him. Unlike setting a pack of hounds on a scent, letting him on the trail is like letting a panther loose. Impossible to corral; the work is done viciously, efficiently, and once he's done the job, he slinks off into the woods and can't be found.

I like the cat metaphor, especially because afterwards one can count on him to be a sort of global slut selling the secrets of the ones who hired him to the people he just screwed over. Interesting philosophy, to remain on the fence and actually run up and down it pimping his own soul for both sides. I wonder how he can consider himself a survivor when he keeps going back and forth like that. After a while, no one will trust him. As if they do now. God, I just hope I'm there when he falls!

Cats always land on their feet, though. And he has the same cocky swagger that alley toms have.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to tame him. There's a fascinating thought: the green-eyed panther, seduced. Leashed. Reduced to a lazy cat with a collar, draped beside me, purring, his hypothetical tail twitching -just the tip. Wouldn't expect he'd ever lose the alertness, still... It'd be worth it.

Demonic felines possessing unconscious beauty and grace are usually wild and I have the undeniable hunch that cracking a whip and brandishing a collar is *not* the way to go. That's the other thing about cats - don't corner them. Fuck, when did I start thinking he had beauty? Oh well. He does, I guess. Not ethically, not his character. It's in the way he moves. The same amoral beauty as a carnivore who takes pleasure in being a successful killer. An evil that is fascinating because of its essential nature - one has to wonder how such a beast can live with itself, without mercy. The same kind of fascination a mouse must feel, to know it's being stalked by such an unstoppable, deadly creature intent on killing *it*. All that single-minded attention is flattering until one realizes one is being eaten alive.

Such a wary creature; one would have to lull him into a false sense of safety just to get him to stop prowling. And to be able to get close enough to touch him? Once bitten, twice-shy; he'll always be wary with me, now. I've struck him too many times for him to do anything but sneer if he thinks I'm trying anything. No, to domesticate someone this wild I'll have to find a way to make him actually want to come near, to believe that it's his decision. How to lure him when he is himself adept at luring *and* a skillful hunter, to boot? 'Curiosity will catch the cat.' Not quite the phrase but adapted to fit the circumstance. I need to create a situation that he can't resist; one that'll draw him in before he realizes it's a trap.

I won't be able to get a decent discussion or any kind of 'truth' out of him unless he actually believes that I'm not in charge of the situation. That's it; make him believe that he's the one holding the reins. If I just knew what his weakness is. It'd be easy. All cats have an Achilles heel - grab em' by the scruff of the neck and they get the message. Not that I'd trust him anymore than I would trust a real feral cat. Just as selfish, high-strung and dangerous. I'll have to have someone cover my back - the Lone Gunmen are probably my best bet. Krycek is resourceful but even he isn't as tapped into the same variety of paranoid genius that those three are... Jesus, when did this become my latest project and not just a speculation?

But it is so tempting. I have had to put up with that bastard waving tantalizing pieces of the puzzle in my face for so long. So unfair, that he should have access to the answers. I could've had them, but at what cost? He chose them over humanity, conscience and integrity. I can't do that. I won't. And strangely, I get the feeling that he's just as aware of it as I am; that he has a begrudging respect for me because of it.

I could do it. I could find a way to lure him in, set him up and trap him. This is starting to sound more plausible and worse, imperative. He mustn't get the slightest suspicion I was even involved, for it to work. He thinks I'm naïve, that I can't track him because he's always tracking me, for Them. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I don't much care anymore. My apartment might as well be the intelligence community switchboard for all the bugs and wiretaps I get all the time. And the traffic - you'd think it's Spy Central, it's a joke; they come and go and I can't do a damn thing about it.

Now I know just how much I have been wanting this. God, the simple sight of just seeing him trapped. There, in front of me, unable to furtively scurry back into the woodwork. I wouldn't let him slip out of my hands this time. It would be so worth it. To see him there, cuffed, literally at my mercy, after all these years. To see him squirm and have to - to - give me answers, tell me the truth... no pain. I wouldn't use pain to drag it out of him. It's not like I want to torture him or anything. I'd find some alternative... something that means something to him...find his weakness, use it against him and watch him break, crumble before me, begging me... in that oh-so-believable liar's voice...

Before I realize it, I'm coming and it's racing over me, fast. I jerk helplessly in the throes of it, my hand working my cock hard enough to experience little flashes of light behind my eyes. God, that was a *good* one. A faint warning voice echoes in the back of my mind at this. I ruthlessly squash it; I don't need any more guilt trips than I already have. I've been through so many scenarios in jerk-off sessions. This is different; the promise of psychological fulfillment, a sense of closure and completion is what drives this fantasy. I'm grinning as I absently clean myself up with the towel that is handily lying beside the couch. I can't help it, because this is one that I'm going to get. I *will* get him.

Besides, it was his fault, the bastard, for kissing me that night. He breaks in, attacks me, pulls my own gun on me, tosses me obscure and disturbing tidings - the son of a bitch actually has the nerve to berate me for not 'believing' in the Lie anymore - what am I, do I look like a torch-bearer? -and then to finish it off, he kisses me on the cheek. I guess I'm supposed to believe it's a comradely gesture, a cultural thing... but come on, who are we kidding. It was a real smacker. I mean, any harder and he would've left a bruise, or I'd've bit my tongue or something. My cheek burned for hours afterwards, with the imprint of his lips. And - what was with giving me back my gun? Of course, I was stunned at that point and really couldn't register enough of the situation to think of apprehending him. Seemed kind of beside the point. He was right; it did get my attention. For one of my deadliest enemies, a man who knows how much I despise him, to come to me and say all that - Well, it made me rethink the conclusions I'd come to.

And not just about the Consortium and the War. Like, why didn't he kiss me on the mouth? And did I want him to? What might've happened if he had? Why did he do it in the first place? What would I do if I had the opportunity to return the favor... A surge of regret goes through me at this thought. Why? Oh, wait. That was just that little voice again, reminding me that all this might be taking place only in my head. That he might not have meant anything deep or serious by it, that he really was fucking with my mind. Oh, well. What was I...

Yeah, the rat-bastard; right. Thanks to him, here I am getting off on the thought of what it would be like to have him tied up and at my disposal, awaiting whatever I decide is just-desserts for a traitorous scum-bag son-of-a-bitch Consortium thug. I'd just like the option, you know? I wouldn't pull the trigger; unless someone was spiking my drinking water again. I laugh aloud at this thought. After that whole thing had blown over, I distinctly remember feeling sharp regret that Scully had stopped me from ridding the world of one Alex rat-bastard Krycek. Now I'm not so sure I want him dead. I want the truth. Truth is something that he doesn't value or feel like imparting to me unless it's tangled up in conspiratorial disinformation. Which sort of makes that kiss look even more suspect.

I guess what I really want isn't the Truth, so much as a simple *answer* that makes sense. I want to know what he meant by it. I want to know if he was just fucking around with my head or if he has 'issues'. I sort of remember getting a vibe off him back when we were partners...

Well, nah. To be honest, if there was I only noticed it in passing and it really wasn't important anyway. Still, that day at the pool when he came to tell me that Duane Barry had flipped - I remember his gaze slid. Inadvertently; it happens. In locker rooms, where athletes, swimmers and sportsmen congregate... But come to think of it, why doesn't he ever try to fight back? He always takes a defensive position...he's had opportunities to hit me back and never done it. Maybe I'm an idiot. He probably could have killed me several times over, the number of times I've lost control and gone for him. I can't help it, it's like this suffering side of me, of my memory, it rears up and suddenly I just want to have my hands on his neck. Which means he must have some reason for *not* killing me. I want to know why that is, too. If he toys with me. That makes me feel like he's been patronizing me, humoring me. I hate this. I'm gonna nail that son of a bitch; I will find out. I'll make him tell me.

Damn it, here I am; I've already come tonight, and I'm still thinking about him. Godzilla was a bad idea. Should've stuck to porn. Usually I can sleep afterwards. Still caught up in it. It's him, thinking of *him* that's doing this. Bastard. That little warning voice is muttering something about sublimation. I'm telling it to shut up, even as I drift off, smiling at how I can set this up. 'Gonna get you, sucka'...

Part 2

A few weeks later...

Alex awoke with a strange, metallic taste in his mouth; it wasn't blood. His head was pounding and he didn't have a clue where he was. Nothing around him looked familiar. In fact, it all looked shady and indistinct. He couldn't focus properly. Then he remembered; he was sick. He should never have gone to that rendezvous with a fever. Knew I should've stayed in bed... But he didn't know how he'd got here from that lab complex. It worried him.

Scully came into the room and stood over him by his bedside. He knew it was her, despite the fuzziness as his eyes still hadn't adjusted to the light. Her voice was unmistakable. Blinking, he tried to understand what she was saying. He couldn't move. He tried desperately to tell her that he was too hot and that his chest hurt. She reached down - he expected her to hit him. The cool hand she placed on his forehead, and then her wrist, was confusing but good. Such a relief. He was burning all over. He relaxed, and wanted to try to move into a more comfortable position but a slight prick in his arm was soon followed by welcome darkness.

Mulder sat in the two-seater sofa staring at the weather broadcast. Rain and more rain. Scully appeared at his side. "Mulder, we need to talk."

He looked up at her, wondering at her tone. "Why? What is it?"

She took a breath. "He has two broken ribs, a flesh-wound on his left thigh where a bullet grazed him, and a missing arm. I had no idea about that, you could have warned me. I can only assume it happened in Siberia. After what you told me about the local people's precautions against the tests conducted there, I guess he wasn't as lucky as you were. It was a very messy job. He's also running a fever. He had it before and his injuries have complicated his condition. God only knows what he was doing there at the lab facility. He should have been in bed."

Mulder shrugged. "Doesn't sound too serious. Well, except for the arm -is there something you can do?"

She paused. "Whoever it was, they probably did it without anesthetic." Mulder winced. "I've taped his chest and given him a shot of morphine. Also some anti-inflammatories, and I've patched up the leg. But his arm -it happened too long ago for me to do anything for it now. His fever is high and we'll just have to wait for it to break. He needs fluids. I don't think we should move him until he's had a chance to recover. It might take longer; with mild dehydration, a temperature, and the injuries he sustained, it might compromise his recovery. As it is, he needs a week at the very least." She stopped.

Mulder regarded her. "What is it? Come on, Scully, what is it you're not telling me?"

She sat down in the big armchair and reveled in the comfort of a soft seat and the warm fire. After surviving being caught in the crossfire of a firefight, fussing over Alex Krycek (of all people) and spending the night driving for hours with Mulder to this godforsaken wilderness retreat, this was wonderfully welcome. The only thing that made this escapade worth it at all was they'd managed to grab the material Krycek's contact handed to him just before the ambush. "He's delirious. He keeps drifting back and forth between Russian and English. I can't be sure what he's saying but from what I can tell, he's suffering from some form of past trauma; an old one. It sounds like claustrophobia but I get the feeling there are more sinister elements involved, something related to the Smoking Man and the Black Cancer." She looked at the fire.

"What else is he saying?" Mulder prompted her.

She looked back up at him. "He's not exactly spouting dark secrets and valuable information, if that's what you're wondering. But he was very concerned about you being here. He hasn't seen you yet, I guess he assumes you're here because I am. At one point he seemed almost lucid, he grabbed my arm and made me promise 'not to tell you'. 'Don't tell Mulder', he kept saying. Although what it is I'm not supposed to tell you is a mystery. Maybe because I can't understand the Russian he's using."

Mulder scowled. "I have a pretty good idea what it is."

Scully's brows lifted. "I don't think you do. He keeps ranting that you hate him -"

"He's right about that."

"- and keeps saying 'Please don't hit me', and 'don't let him hit me anymore'." She looked at him with a knowing expression, almost smug. His temper was not one of his more positive traits, particularly where this known traitor and criminal was concerned. She'd tried to talk to him about it before they arrived but he was distracted with driving and they were both preoccupied and tired. "I think you've made an impression on him, Mulder."

Mulder's eyes slid away from the accusation in her gaze. "Scully, come on. I'm not going to give him what he deserves while he's lying there defenseless. Not after all your hard work fixing him up. I'll wait until he's better and then we can settle it outside -"

"Mulder..." Scully's long-suffering and plaintive sigh was so familiar.

"Okay, okay. We'll talk about it later. Tell him I'm not going to hit him."

"I can't, he's delirious. You can tell him yourself when his fever breaks. We need more bandages and morphine and I need coffee. Think you could get those? It's only twelve miles and you've had sleep. I haven't." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"I'll go in the morning. You need to get some rest." Mulder was suddenly solicitous. "I'll take over for a while."

Scully's eyes snapped open. "Actually, I wonder if that's such a good idea. You two aren't on good terms and while the Hippocratic oath doesn't exactly cover the inadvertent disclosure of intelligence by feverish double agents, you probably shouldn't hear it, at least yet. Some of it sounds personal. You're already too personally involved. You'll just shoot him and he's more valuable alive. Besides, you still haven't explained to me why we were there at that rendezvous point when you obviously knew Krycek was going to be there. They didn't tail us, they didn't follow him; so how did they know he was going to be there? I'm concerned. Whoever sent you the tip may have set up Krycek and the contact, *and* you."

"Scully, I'm surprised at you. He's a Syndicate lackey. This kind of thing is par for the course where he's concerned. And I'm also kind of surprised you're taking his side - "

"I'm hardly taking his side, Mulder."

" - this man killed my father, was involved in the murder of your sister, and that's just a count of two in the long, long list - look, anything we can find out is worth something. Maybe we could translate some of the Russian. Couldn't you get any words?"

She looked uncomfortable. "Actually, I did. But I want to look up the translations myself. In fact, you could add that to the shopping list -coffee, milk, some things for breakfast, in fact, food. Not just doughnuts, either." She shot him a look. "Morphine and a Russian-to-English dictionary. We can't risk going on-line or calling anyone from here just now. Oh, and some more bandages."

"I'll throw in leg irons and thumb screws too, just in case." He grinned at her expression.

"Mulder..." Scully didn't even bother raising her head.

"Just kidding. I meant condoms and lube, of course." He waited until he got to the door to say it, though.

"Better make it duct tape, Mulder. I'll be using it on you."

"Why, Scully. I'm surprised. I didn't think you had it in you. Personally, I don't think you'd go through with it - but if you change your mind, I prefer cuffs." He pulled on his coat and grabbed the keys.

Scully replied nonchalantly, "My cuffs are on Krycek, just now. And the duct tape is for your mouth."

Perhaps it was the hours of travel and the stress and tension releasing from the earlier confrontation in the ambush but Scully was treated to the rare instance of Mulder actually lost for words. He grinned but he didn't make a comeback. He was tired. He merely said, "I called Skinner before we left and appraised him of the situation. He knows we're incommunicado for a couple more days. He said that under no circumstances are we to present him with any hotel expenses."

"He should get quite a surprise when we actually return without any, then," she said, grinning back at him. She was grateful that Mulder had this hideaway tucked out of sight of the rest of America's finest federal agencies, however. It should take anyone looking for them at least five to six days before they caught up with them.

She smiled at having the last word as the door closed behind him. And then remembered Krycek. If she was right about him, Mulder *was* going to kill him this time. She sighed. Why was she always having to intervene and step between them, shielding the man from Mulder's inability to control himself? She needed two sets of cuffs, one of them for Mulder. That was an idea. Restrain them both and then referee the ensuing match... and threaten them with gags if they didn't conduct themselves properly... Could be interesting. It could certainly prove to be diverting. She shook her head as she heard him slamming the car door. Why couldn't Mulder see the rather obvious way that Krycek responded to him? Or the inherent reciprocation of his own behavior in the way he always responded so violently to the younger man? Men, she sighed to herself.

Part 3

Alex found himself stirring, trying to wake up. When he opened his eyes they felt dry. He tried to swallow and found his mouth so dry he couldn't. Someone was offering him water, which he took gratefully. His chest hurt. He remembered that from before and frowned. He couldn't move his arm from up above his head, it was fastened - with something metal. He froze.

"How're you feeling?" Oh yeah, Scully. He remembered. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. And behind her, standing near the doorway looking arrogantly healthy, was Mulder.

Shit, oh shit. Alex closed his eyes and stirred slightly, pain shooting through him at the motion. When he opened his eyes again, he carefully kept them anywhere but at the two of them. Scully he could barely tolerate on his good days; to have to deal with both of them at once, given all that he'd been through so far, well. He was screwed.

"Krycek. Welcome back to the land of the living." Mulder's careless tone was noncommittal, but neither was it sarcastic.

"Where are we, exactly?" Alex was appalled at the weakness of his voice.

"Safe, for now. This place is pretty unknown and out of the way." Scully felt his forehead. "Your temperature is going down. Your fever broke last night."

"H-how long - ?"

"Three days. You've been in and out. What's the last thing you remember?"

He frowned, trying to get his bearings. "Uh, the ambush and Hafsten drawing his gun on me. I think I got two of them before they hit me with that car. Hafsten?"

"He's dead," said Mulder. "Who were they? Enemies of yours? Or friends of his?"

There was a pregnant pause as Alex didn't look at him. "How do you feel?" Scully repeated.

Alex didn't reply, silently assessing. She was waiting, peering over him like a bird. "Tired," he conceded. "Everything hurts."

"You have two broken ribs and some bruising, a fever that I'm sure you already knew about, Hafsten's bullet grazed your leg and, if you aren't careful, that illness you have will relapse. You're staying put."

"Yeah, I couldn't help but notice that," Alex stated wryly, lifting his wrist that was held up and back by the cuffs that attached him to the rail behind his head. "So what happens now?"

"You stay put," said Mulder.

Alex considered both of them. "And after?"

"Don't worry, we're not going to do anything just now. Let's just concentrate on getting you better, okay? You need rest and you shouldn't be moved, so no travel." Scully was cool and detached but somehow her words did help relieve his fears that Mulder would jump him.

"Any ideas as to who ambushed us?" Mulder asked, quietly.

"No more than as to who tipped you off that I would be there," retorted Alex.

"Enough, we can do this later," said Scully, firmly. "You need to eat, and then rest. You'll need to wash, too. And we'll have to get some things from town." She got up and went to the door.

"Dana," he called. Scully stopped, surprised. "Thank you", he said gravely, the sincerity apparent in his voice.

She nodded at him once, accepting this at face value. "You're welcome." She left the room.

Alex let his eyes casually slide away to regard the window, ignoring him.

"You might be interested to know that we have the documents, too. They weren't lost, in case you were wondering."

Alex's silence was eloquent.

Mulder found himself forcing down the impulse to stride to the bed and demand the man talk to him... Admittedly, he'd never factored a battered and damaged prey; still, this was the closest he'd ever got. The tip he'd received that Krycek would be meeting a contact at that deserted lab complex had come out of the blue and of course his curiosity had insisted that they check it out. The possibilities of either apprehending Krycek, following a source of his, identifying another Syndicate face, or even getting an idea of what was going on, were irresistible. He'd never wanted this outcome. It was inconvenient to Scully and himself, and in fact, he'd grown so accustomed to Krycek surviving the odds that he'd been shaken to find Scully and himself peeling him unconscious and bleeding off the concrete.

There had been a set-up, Krycek had only been implicated, Mulder was certain; Hafsten had to have been the one who'd been ambushed. The fact that the contact had panicked and turned on Krycek would have cost him his life if they'd not been there. They had saved his life, bailed him out and brought him here for proper medical attention and safety during his recovery. That should count for at least a few answers. So far, they hadn't threatened him. Mulder was growing tired of that cold, hard expression that spoke of Krycek's indifference to anything he said. He was about to subject him to a suitably caustic remark when it hit him.

Pride - that was why he was refusing to cooperate. Mulder considered this. It made sense; in his position he'd hardly be happy to have to be grateful. Christ, in his position he'd be fucking terrified. Considering their relationship, Krycek had good reason to be afraid. Finally, after years of aggravation, he was his prisoner. Mulder was unable to enjoy it as much as he thought he would.

He felt a twinge of guilt. This situation was far too similar to the thoughts he'd indulged in, before. Somehow, knowing this was his fantasy brought to living reality didn't make it easier to deal with. This was a perfect opportunity to break him, break down those ice walls and expose the man's motives, his intentions, even his weaknesses. Why the hell was his conscience deciding to kick in *now*, just when he had the rat-bastard where he wanted him? Hell, most of the time he could barely keep his fists from flying. And here he was sympathizing with the rat? With an absent frown, he looked back over at Krycek.

His eyes were wide and utterly dark and, despite his stony attitude, Krycek appeared tense. Yeah, he's scared, Mulder thought. But of what? He'd already made it clear that he wasn't going to strike him, and that he'd be safe with them for a while. They weren't going to admit him to a hospital and Scully had already spoken with him about his condition. And the safehouse they were in was relatively new, probably undiscoverable - at least until he recovered to the point of being fit to travel. Of course, Krycek would be wary as he'd been so frequently at the receiving end of his temper.

Krycek still had answers to questions Mulder wouldn't let go of until he'd got them from him. Mulder knew Krycek was aware he'd want to question him while he was still in their power. But there was something else, something in the way Krycek was behaving. Krycek's careful, respectful attitude towards Scully, his gratitude for her help. Sure, Scully was a doctor and felt obliged to help him. She had even shot Mulder when he'd been about to pull the trigger on Krycek. There was of course the little matter of the fact it'd been the same gun that killed his father, but still. And there it was; Krycek hoped to appeal to Scully's sense of justice to protect him from Mulder, hoped to make an ally of her as far as he could.

Mulder cleared his throat. "You're safe for now. We're hardly going to put a bullet in your head and dump you in the river."

"You're a real humanitarian. Although I gotta say, it's kind of weird to find Scully playing Florence Nightingale on my behalf."

"You know, Krycek; it's possible that whoever set you and Hafsten up wasn't the same guy who tipped me off. If we hadn't shown up, they would have got you."

"I'm well aware of that, Mulder. There's no telling who did. But Hafsten was a CIA operative who was dealing with the Tunisian government on the side. He was supposed to be giving me reports from the research facility there. We knew someone had been compromising our exchanges. He was never meant to give them to me in the first place, I'd intercepted him. It was a bonus; he didn't even know who I was working for. I was there to find the leak to the CIA."

"Then the CIA cut him loose. Great. Were those CIA that jumped you, then?"

"Pretty good guess, I'd say. Though it's hard to tell. I can think of several groups who might want me out of the picture."

"Well, thanks a lot. Inter-agency incidents, and Scully and I now have a week's 'leave of absence' disappearing-act. We're calling it in as sick leave. Apt, when you think about it. We're spending the whole time playing nursemaid."

"Lucky you. And you get to apprehend me at the same time. Looks like you got a bargain," Alex said, bitterly. "So, what - you patch me up and wait until I'm better to put me on the rack? Come on, *Fox*, I know you're just dying to start with the interrogation."

Turning back to him, Mulder addressed him in a voice devoid of sarcasm or threat. "Look, you can be a good patient or you can be a pain in the ass. I don't think Scully will let you get away with *that* so you might want to stay on her good side."

Krycek's only answer was a slightly dismissive glance. He looked pale and also as if he were straining to keep himself together. Krycek was tight-lipped and sarcastically cryptic most of the time; a sulking Krycek-invalid was bound to be even more infuriating and less forthcoming. Besides, beating the answers out of him wasn't really an option, since Scully would have his head if Krycek showed new bruises or signs of a relapse because of him. Pushing the frustration away until later, he turned and left the room.

*Fuck*, Alex thought, vehemently. His head was pounding so loudly he almost felt ill. His heart was beating faster than before and he'd broken out into a sweat from the tension at having to keep himself from breaking down in the man's presence. He shivered, trying to fight off the dizzy combination of nausea and fear, the anxiety that Mulder would discover the full extent of the state he was in, as well as the shame that gripped him for Mulder to see him like this. Being in the same room with him made him feel clumsy and awkward at the best of times. This was a hundred times worse. He was naked under the bedcovers, bruised and with what felt like several broken ribs rather than the two Scully had told him he had. He felt like utter shit. He *felt* like he'd been run over, but then, he had, hadn't he? He almost laughed before he remembered the excruciating pain that lanced him every time he took anything more than a shallow breath.

He'd have to ask them for help if he needed anything at all; and he was utterly dependent on Mulder's temper. He was handcuffed by his good arm to the fucking bedrail and his clothes were nowhere in sight. And he felt exposed, although Scully had kindly covered his left side for him up to his neck with the sheets. Talk about trying to break someone by stripping them of dignity. He couldn't even see where his prosthetic was. His chest hurt like a son of a bitch and he could feel the accumulation of days' worth of laying in the same bed sticking to his skin - he desperately wanted a shower. And to relieve the slight itch of his nose. Fuck, now other parts of him itched, innocuous areas like his knee, the bandage on his left leg, his ear. Desperately, he turned his head and rubbed it against his shoulder. The action hurt his chest. He shuddered at the thought of trying to sit up unassisted. He knew the bruises were worse than Scully had said. Felt more like he'd been crushed under that car rather than just knocked down...

Then it occurred to him: which was worse? Asking Scully to help him shower, or Mulder? Neither option appealed to him at all. In fact, he couldn't get up at all like this. They'd have to wash him... Oh fucking hell. A spasm of fear curled in his stomach. He could take this from *anyone* but Mulder. Of all the people to have finally caught up with him, in all the fuck-ups that could have happened. He wished he hadn't shown up for that meeting: aggravated flu symptoms, a betrayal, a set-up, and the memory of blacking out as something hard hit him from the side knocking the wind out of him. He'd been lucky it had been a glancing blow. He hadn't even seen or heard the car approaching as the bullet had torn against his leg and he started to go down; damn Hafsten, anyway! He was glad the panicking operative had bought it. Treacherous *and* unprofessional... Hm. What was he doing here under Mulder's power then, himself. If Mulder didn't hit him, he'd do it himself when he escaped. If he managed to. He deserved everything that transpired here, for misjudging the situation so completely; not to mention for ignoring his initial instincts to stay away.

The sheer exhaustion and pain was enough to resign him to at least a week in hell. He knew Mulder wasn't going to let him get away if he could help it. The only thing he could count on was a miscalculation on Mulder's part, if Mulder was blinded by his emotions and caught off-guard in anger to make one mistake. And he'd have to not be cuffed to the goddamn bed if he were to take advantage of it. The cold sickening reality of it was too much and he almost started to feel the panic well up again, of feeling trapped... and that suffocating fear of abandonment.

Shaking, he focused on the pale light of the window, a cold and diffuse white as the sky was thick and gray outside. Forcing himself to take even breaths, testing the ache in his chest, he willed himself to stay calm. He didn't think Scully would allow Mulder to rough him up. Still, if she went out... he tried to assess his options. They were frightful. For it to come to this: being utterly dependent on Dana Scully, who had too many reasons to hate him as much as Mulder did. He couldn't think. He still felt delirious.

There were muffled voices downstairs as the two of them talked and occasionally she had raised her voice. He couldn't tell what had been said though. Nearly half an hour passed before Scully returned. She came in and said, "I'm going out to get supplies. Then I'll give you something to eat."

"I'm not going anywhere. Could you at least uncuff me?" He was surprised how rough his voice still sounded, as though he'd been hoarsely talking for hours.

She regarded him. "I only cuffed you when you showed signs of waking up. Hardly time to panic, I think. You've been here three days and nights without them. It's the only way I can be sure you're going to rest."

"Come on, I can barely move; I can't get anywhere like this," he scoffed, worried.

"No, you can't. And I'm going to make sure that you don't. This is your body's way of telling you to take a break, Krycek. Listen to it; it knows more than you do."

"No need to be condescending."

"And don't pout; Mulder does it much better than you do. If you insist, you ought to get him to give you lessons. You'll have plenty of time to practice sticking out your lower lip - just make sure you don't make it too tempting a target for him. Those cuffs stay on until I say so. I know you well enough, Krycek. You'll drag yourself out of here even if every bone is broken; we can't afford to take the chance."

Alex didn't answer, but his eyes flashed. She left knowing he was majorly pissed. She shook her head. He was like Mulder sometimes; didn't know what was good for him. Maybe it's a guy-thing, she thought.

Alex watched her leave and then turned his head to lean it slightly against his right arm. This time, he couldn't quite stifle the despair that threatened to swallow him. To be helpless like this, it hurt deep, mostly because he could see the triumph in Mulder's eyes. Had he survived everything so far only to be taken down like this? It had some justice in it, he supposed, for it to be Mulder to bring him in. He just wondered if Mulder was savvy enough to recognize that as soon as they turned him in, he was a dead man. Maybe this was a good thing, he thought, darkly. And it'd be one way for Mulder to get rid of him without getting his hands dirty.

Part 4

Downstairs in the living room, Scully confronted Mulder. "I'm going to go into town and get a few more things and then I'm going take the guest room to sleep for, oh, about a week. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, okay. You've earned it. Don't worry, I'll look after him, I won't kill him while you're gone. I'll wait until you get back to do it." But he smiled, to reassure her he was kidding.

"Mulder, you are not to let him talk you into removing those cuffs for him. Do you hear me? If he leaves right now, he won't get very far but the farther he goes, the worse his condition will get. And give him lots of water."

"Now why would I take them off?! Stop worrying, Scully. He's not going anywhere."

She sighed. "Don't push him, either. He's still sick. He may not even be able to properly hold a conversation with you, let alone give you comprehensive answers."

By the time she'd left, Mulder decided that he would talk with Krycek, just to get him to relate with him a bit. He wouldn't ask him anything pertinent. Yeah, simply engage him in conversation, trivial things. Small talk. That would lull him into a more amenable frame of mind, make him less edgy. And if Krycek kept up the strong, silent martyr? Why, he'd just be even nicer to him. He was bound to crack at some point. In fact, that made more sense than anything so far. If he could get him to believe that he was feeling more lenient towards him because of his condition... Mulder grinned with anticipation. His conscience could survive a few head-games. In this instance the end might justify the means. After all, Krycek was a consummate liar and a master of manipulation. He never once considered that he himself might also have real feelings and they would be just as at risk if Krycek figured it out. He was smiling when he walked into the bedroom.

Krycek's eyes were suspiciously red and he didn't look at Mulder when he came in; just licked his lips slowly and steeled himself - but Mulder simply sat on the edge of the bed.

His face was flushed; he looked like he still had a slight temperature. Frowning, Mulder held out a hand to feel his forehead. Jerking his head away and stiffening, Krycek bit his lip as an obvious ripple of pain went through him.

"Relax, I'm not gonna hit you." Mulder kept his voice even and quiet. And wondered why he felt absolutely no triumph at all at the fact that the man was trembling as he felt his forehead. Not overly warm; maybe he was still too dehydrated. "Do you need some water?"

"You make a lousy nurse."

"True. I can't compete with Scully. It's a good thing she's here, and that you didn't need CPR or surgery; I'd've botched the job for sure."

"Why don't you fuck off, Mulder?" His attempt at bravado was obvious, considering he was still restrained. He could hardly help himself and would have to ask if he needed anything anyway.

Mulder wasn't fazed. He grinned at him. "Keep that up and I might start to think you don't trust me."

Alex regarded the window. "You realize they'll kill me if you turn me in."

"Yeah, your point being?"

He flicked a glance at him. "A bullet *now* would be kinder."

"Sorry, no can do. Scully will shoot me again if I do. I was tempted, but you know something? Having you here like this, it kind of puts it all in a different perspective. I've been thinking: maybe we could take this opportunity to get to know each other better. We never really talk." He couldn't help chuckling at his own humor.

The look Krycek shot him was almost pitying. "Give me a break."

"We have unfinished business, you know. Now's the perfect time to settle our differences."

Alex looked up at him, a nameless anxiety clutching at him. Mulder was kidding him, he knew it and yet - he wished it were real. He couldn't afford to let his guard down. For a moment he felt black hatred for this man's cruelty. Mulder *knew* he had him in a vulnerable and compromising position. What respect he did have for him fled at the knowledge that Mulder could do this to him, to anyone. Something of this must have shown on his face though, because Mulder sat up, straightening.

"Aren't you glad we can do it this way? Think about it; usually when we meet you're healthy enough to take a beating. This way we can't throw any punches... It's more constructive."

Alex sighed wearily. "Mulder, I'm not the one throwing the punches every time our paths cross. You should be the one in the cuffs, not me."

"I think Scully would agree with you. But I promised to behave myself. And look, I haven't laid a hand on you. So let's talk."

Alex fought the sudden temptation to blurt out that he had indeed already laid a hand to his forehead, and what was up with the cuffs anyway, but at the last second realized he was still partly delirious and weakened by fever and pain to contemplate having an argument over it. Mulder could talk circles around him right now. "Feel free, Mulder. Scully would understand. And I'm sure your father would, too." Shit, where had that come from? He tensed, wondering if Mulder would rise to that one. God, to be helpless here, like this. It was unbearable.

Mulder sat regarding him, and then a slow smile crept onto his face. "I do believe you're trying to bait me, Krycek! Actually, now that you mention it, I seem to remember a time in the not-too-distant past, a night where you felt pretty free to lay hands on *me*."

"What're you talking about?"

"Well, are you in the habit of sealing all your deals with a kiss? What about Hafsten; he didn't look the type to respond too well to that."

Alex snorted. "No, I saved that one for you; god knows you needed something to jolt you back to reality. You looked stoned; I'd begun to wonder if you were on something. I didn't think you'd been drinking but you never know. Why? Did I really make that big of an impression?"

Mulder smirked at him. Alex wanted to knock it from his face, hard. "You never asked my permission, Krycek."

"Where do you get off playing Mr Righteous, Mulder?"

"Oh, ever since I learned about your *true* feelings for me." Mulder's eyes were a little too mischievous for Alex's peace of mind. This whole conversation was taking a hideous turn. "You've been delirious. Scully was there. She heard everything, apparently. She told me all about it downstairs just now."

Alex took this in with no small amount of alarm. He had dark, half-formed memories of Scully sitting beside him in the dim light, as he tried to get up, her hand on his head, the needle... "Did I - what did I say?"

Mulder paused, considering him. "You sang."

Alex was mystified. "I - I sang?"

"Like a canary."

He didn't get it at first and then it hit him. Oh, no...

"It's okay, Krycek. I kinda guessed you felt that way about me, when you kissed me that night. It's sort of obvious, when you think about it."

Fuck! Oh god. "What did I *say*, Mulder!?"

"Funny, isn't it; you're the only one who's shown any interest in me in all this time. I seem to specialize in dysfunctional relationships."

Alex didn't bother looking at him. Damn it, he couldn't stop those little involuntary tremors that had returned. His tone was guarded and low, but it still betrayed his dismay. "Even funnier - I didn't think you were the kind to kick someone when they're down."

"Hey," protested Mulder, "I said I wouldn't hurt you. I meant it. Unlike you, my word means something."

Alex's face twisted as he broke, anger and pain written clearly across his expression as he hissed, "What would you know about it, Mulder? Do you have any idea of the falls I've taken for you, or the number of times you'd have bought it, if it weren't for me? You owe me big time, and you've hit me when I've been down before." He broke off, biting his lip, realizing his outburst more than betrayed his humiliation, anger and frustration at his current circumstances. He hadn't wanted Mulder to know just how bad it was for him right now. He'd exploit it to its fullest. Weakness...

Mulder had the nerve to sound wounded. "Come on, cut me some slack here -you and Scully, you're both acting like I'm about to shoot you where you lie! I'm not going to, okay?"

"It would hardly make a difference," Alex said, dully. "I already told you: I'm a dead man, whichever way it goes."

A tiny burst of sympathy nudged at him inside, and Mulder found himself wondering why he couldn't bring himself to hate him like he had before. Maybe it really did start with that kiss, he thought to himself. It had certainly changed the way he thought Krycek thought of him. Almost without thinking, he put out his hand to touch Krycek's chest, bandaged as it was under the sheets and the blanket. Krycek sucked in a painful breath of surprise but there was no heavy pressure. Mulder merely rested his hand there. Quietly, he said, "It's not over yet. Don't give up until the fat lady sings."

Alex's eyes were disbelieving and Mulder caught his breath at the expression in them; a wistful mixture of sadness, shame and longing. Alex cleared his throat. "Thanks. So... does this mean you *won't* turn me in?"

"Well, that kinda depends on you. But like I keep telling you, you're safe for now." Mulder absently ran his hand lightly over his chest. Alex couldn't help tightening reflexively to this, which of course made him wince yet again. Mulder jerked his hand away. "Sorry."

Seeing Krycek cuffed and laying there helpless reminded him of that evening he'd spent with Godzilla, and he felt the stirrings of arousal before he could shake himself out of the reverie. Then again, the man *had* kissed him... Krycek had to know that he might have to deal with the consequences later on. Mulder grinned suddenly. There was no reason not to take advantage of this situation. "Well, mostly safe." And he leaned over him, enjoying the way Alex's eyes widened even more with alarm. He paused, Alex now visibly shaking.

Mulder bent down to place his lips against his, enjoying the unaccountably soft and warm sensation. It wasn't like what he had expected. God, it was... good. Surprisingly good. He hadn't expected it to feel this voluptuous and pleasant. He had wondered ever since the man had pecked him on the cheek what it would really be like... He tilted his head slightly and pressed his mouth to Alex's more insistently, finally flicking out a tongue to taste the lips under his.

Alex let go the breath he'd held and it came out with a moan. This couldn't be happening. It was. And as good as it was, he couldn't help the knowledge that Mulder was *not* serious from tainting the moment. He couldn't stop the tears from leaking and he found himself desperately pulling away, turning his face to the left, unable to speak, his eyes shut tight. He couldn't bear to be this close to him. Not now. Not like this. After all these years. After all the long nights spent trying to *not* think about what he wanted and knew he could never have. The sheer humiliation was enough, without also having to face the thought of Mulder knowing how he really felt about him as well. Damn it, what had he actually exposed in his ravings, in his fever?

But a warm, gentle hand on the side of his face turned him back to face him and Mulder was speaking, in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Hey, hey. It's okay."

"Please, stop. Just stop," Alex managed in a hollow voice, through wet eyes and a gasp that sounded rather like a sob.

The tough, hardened survivor rat-bastard thug had vanished and all that was left in his place was a sick and wounded man, emotionally broken and tired. Mulder almost jerked away as guilt flooded through him. He had thought that Krycek deserved worse than anything Mulder could ever dish out to him. Now, he wasn't so sure. He found himself mulling over the man's options once he left - on the run, working with entirely disagreeable people, unable to escape his past or his conscience. Mulder's eyes narrowed. *Did* Krycek possess one? Once he hadn't even cared. Now...

As for arresting him: he was right about that, too - Krycek would be dead within twenty-four hours.

"Stop what, Krycek?"

With harsh little breaths, Alex rasped, "What do you *want* from me?"

Mulder was stymied at this. "I don't know," he admitted, almost to himself. "I thought I did, but it wasn't like this. I never wanted to see you like this."

Alex sniffled, once. It was enough to draw attention to the fact that he was painfully ashamed at his current state as he once more looked away and refused to meet his eyes. He replied in a low voice, "Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?"

"Do you have any idea what a turn-on it is for me, to have you here like this? Under Scully's orders not to release you, no less? If I uncuff you, she will shoot me. To have you here, in my power, and you can't get away. It's kind of an aphrodisiac, after all the times I've been unable to catch you." Mulder couldn't help a brief laugh.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Y-yeah, tell me about it."

Mulder glanced down and realized what he meant. There was a great deal of tenting going on down there... He grinned. So, Krycek *did* like a little bondage action with him after all, did he? He leaned back in, close to Krycek's face, making him breathe in a little too sharply again and pull away once more. "Would you like me to take care of that for you?"

Alex turned to stared at him, bemused. Finally, he managed, "Since when do you care? What about - about -"

Mulder pretended to frown, deliberately misunderstanding him. "You're right. She'll be back soon. We'll wait until later. Besides, you're still too weak for those kinds of exertions, wouldn't you say?"

A brief glower of anger crossed Krycek's face.

"Okay, okay. I didn't think you'd be so demanding," chuckled Mulder. Leaning down he captured his mouth again, this time sliding his tongue between Alex's lips to taste him, keeping up a relentless pace that made the man under him fold soon enough. Alex's mouth opened beneath his and soon their tongues were sliding together with a hot, electric contact that made Mulder wonder *why* he had ever thought Alex Krycek was unfeeling, cold or worthy of an ignominious death. Why, the man was a surprising blend of tender, affectionate warmth and sweet, heady, responsive desire. He ignored the warning voice in his head that was screaming in a good approximation of a klaxon.

Alex found himself surrendering to this unexpected onslaught. Besides, it was just too nice, too pleasant to resist. His own words came back to haunt him, 'resist or serve'... yeah, he thought bitterly, who am I serving now? Him, or me? But the thought that this was all moving too fast was sitting in the back of his mind, reminding him that it couldn't last. Unfortunately, he was all too correct.

The sound of a ladylike throat clearing behind them made them jump, Mulder most of all. He almost leaped up as he guiltily turned to face her. He felt like a sixteen-year-old.

"Don't let me interrupt, boys. I can see you need a bit more time alone together." Scully's voice was dry, dead-pan. She turned and left them looking at each other: Krycek slightly worried at what Mulder would do, Mulder worried at what *she* would do.

Part 5

Mulder dithered with indecision and then followed her downstairs where she was unpacking grocery bags and didn't look up at him. He said defensively, "Well, at least I haven't uncuffed him."

"That practically begs the question, Mulder. Are you planning to fuck him like that, too?" He winced at this. He was about to reply when she continued, "Have you thought about how this might look, to him? If you do this and you *don't* uncuff him, or at least wait for him to recover from his current state of illness, it looks a lot like a captor taking advantage of his hostage, don't you think?"

He fidgeted. "Scully, it's not like that. We have a bit of history that I never told you about -"

"Do tell, Mulder. He's a fugitive wanted in connection with the deaths of many people on that long, long list you told me about." Her arch response did jolt him, mostly because of the reminder that he hadn't ever given her any reason to believe he felt anything but hatred for the man. "If I may bring you back to the real world for a moment, though, I thought you might like to know. I called Skinner via that bogus satellite link on my laptop that Frohike set up for me? He said that you needed to get back as soon as possible. Those documents we've got are hotter than we thought. I'll stay here with Krycek and he'll send someone over to pick us up in a couple of days. Considering what I just saw, I'd say that it's imperative that you cooperate on this one, Mulder. Looks like Stockholm Syndrome in reverse. I'm not sure what you think you're doing, but you really need to get some distance from him and think things over."

So I have issues, he grumbled silently, so sue me. An unpleasant taste settled inside him at her words. She was taking it very well; she was probably not reacting as badly as he might have feared for the very simple reason that she had grown more than used to his irrational and often erratically unpredictable behavior. Particularly where Krycek was concerned. She was right, and he said so. "Okay, I agree. Things are a bit crazy right now. But I can't just leave it like this. Let me - just give me a few minutes to talk with him, okay?"

She lifted a brow at him. "I'll give you exactly ten, and then I'm coming up. I was expecting something to give after the incredible revelation of Alex Krycek's unrequited passion for you, Mulder, but I really didn't think you'd fall for it. You need to leave, I think. He needs to eat something and I'm making soup. Skinner was very insistent."

"Why should Skinner care if he gets fed or not?"

She rolled her eyes at his obvious attempt at obfuscation. "Ten minutes only," she said, a hint of exasperation showing in her voice. "Skinner said you absolutely must get back. Now get upstairs. You don't want to keep lover-boy waiting."

Mulder closed his eyes briefly and put a hand to his temples. When had this situation gotten so completely and utterly fucked up? How had he lost control so badly? And why couldn't he simply go upstairs and shoot him, strangle him, or just plain kill him, as he had wanted to for so long? He sighed. And obediently turned and went back up.

When he entered the room with a disgruntled attitude, Krycek turned to regard him warily, almost tiredly. He looked resigned to whatever would happen.

"Tell me you wouldn't have told me anything useful, anyway." Mulder ignored the impulse to return to his side and kiss him senseless again. Therein lay madness; it was some sort of weird reaction to seeing the man bound, that's all it was. He was damned if he was going to encourage him in believing that it meant they had some sort of emotional bond. It was sexual tension, that's all it was. In a way, he felt ashamed for having led him on, for surely that was what he'd done. Just as Scully had accused; he'd taken advantage of an injured and helpless prisoner, when he knew he had feelings for him.

He had to forcibly reject the memory of how Krycek had responded to him, the tears and the unfeigned pain and yearning expression. Not to mention what Scully had told him...

Alex's eyes narrowed and he looked away. He exhaled through his nose. "Sure, whatever. I'm in no position to argue. Hey, I'm willing to avoid the issue if you are."

"Look, I'm sorry for taking advantage of you. You're right, you can't do anything, you can't argue with Scully, let alone argue with me. You at least deserve a sporting chance." His attempt at humor was backfiring, as usual. "I have to go. Maybe we can settle this when you and Scully get back."

"You're leaving?"

Damn him; damn the lost, bewildered look in those killer's eyes; the lying, wretchedly authentic little-boy-lost expression. "Yeah. Look, Kr- Alex, I think it would be best. We're more likely to survive this if I do."

"Just one thing; what did - what did I say? To Scully, when I was out of it?"

Mulder couldn't help grinning. "That you loved me. In so many words. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone if you won't. And we can count on the discretion of the paragon of moral virtue downstairs, too."

Alex turned his face to the wall. Mulder couldn't be sure but he thought he was sulking. Amazing. He stalked over and taking Alex's face firmly between both hands he planted a warm and undemanding kiss on both cheeks and then on his mouth. "This isn't over yet. I agree with Scully though; we both need time to think. Things are more complicated than I imagined."

"For you, maybe," Alex said, struggling to not beg him to stay, to try to work this out here and now, even just to talk. The words were welling up inside him. Don't go, not now. Not after this, after all this time. Please. It won't be the same, it can't ever be like this again. And we both know it.

Mulder stood up. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, right."

"I'm not saying goodbye. Seems kind of academic at this point."

Krycek turned his face back to the wall again. It was dismissive and Mulder couldn't help a twinge of annoyance. Where did he get off pulling this bitchy attitude? He was making it much harder than it needed to be. He left the room without saying anything more.

Alex breathed a silent thanks that he'd gone at last. This entire day had been so completely shafted. Things had gone from bad to worse. There was no way he could ever live this down. And Mulder would undoubtedly see things in a much clearer light once he returned to his normal routine and familiar environment. Probably it *was* for the best, as Mulder had said. For Mulder had so much ammunition now. He would use it against him the first chance he got. It was better that he had left, and that he, Alex-scumbag-son-of-a-bitch-Krycek avoid meeting Mulder wherever possible. His psychological state and emotional feelings for him had entirely compromised any possibility that Mulder would take him seriously in any future encounter. Yeah, best that they not meet again. It was bound to be painful and pointless. And it was pretty clear that Mulder was in a state of denial over his usual hatred for him, and the way Alex lived his life.

Still, he couldn't stop the tears from absently tracing their telltale path down his face, beneath his closed eyes. Or the hopeless futility that filled him with an empty diatribe of self-recrimination. To have glimpsed a false moment of fulfillment and happiness was almost worse than never having tasted it at all. At least before he hadn't really known what he was missing. Intimacy. The memory of Fox Mulder's mouth on his own, at last... It was a dream, a fucking dream. And he'd just woken up, with Mulder's departure.

Part 6

Approximately a month later...

Mulder awoke with dismay and apprehension. His fear was well-founded, he discovered to his horror. He was cuffed by both wrists, to the sides of his bed above his head. And his legs were spread, his ankles tied with long lengths of cloth to the bottom legs of the bed on either side. He cursed the fact that he'd decided to go to bed wearing absolutely nothing. It was warm outside and he'd figured sleeping in the raw was more practical. The covers were pushed down and away, leaving him exposed. It was still dark. A voice to his left made him jump.

"Sorry, Mulder. Hate to turn the tables on you like this, but I figured you needed a taste of your own medicine. Besides, I seem to remember we agreed; we have unfinished business." His cheerfulness was immediately aggravating.

"Krycek! What -"

His explosive and somewhat shocked query was abruptly cut off as Alex ran an admiring hand down Mulder's right side, to rest on his hip. The warmth of his hand on his skin was too nice for words. It had been years since another person had touched him naked, let alone someone he'd been unable to stop dreaming about for weeks. He ignored the relief that Krycek had resurfaced - he'd wondered if he would ever see him again. After he'd eluded Scully just before their pickup, Krycek had vanished, true to form. Mulder hadn't talked about it when Scully returned. In fact, they had both studiously ignored the entire episode as if it had never occurred.

Swallowing and licking his lips, trying to stifle the happiness he felt that the man had showed up despite his unorthodox and rather intimidating actions, he started again. "What are you doing?"

Krycek laughed. "You're kidding, right?

Fully awake now, he began to feel indignant. "Come on, Krycek. You don't need to do this..."

"Oh, I think I do." Krycek sat on the edge of the bed. "Nice waterbed," he commented. "Should set up an interesting motion with the rhythm later."

"You sound like you believe you're serious." Mulder was attempting to keep his panic from rising.

"You really shouldn't worry whether I'm serious about this or not. Besides, I think we're both well aware of my intentions toward you by now. I gotta say I'm a little concerned, though."

"Really." Krycek's hand was wandering again, doing unspeakable things that caused more helpless reactions in parts of his anatomy that shared none of his scruples or morals whatsoever... He was glad of it, though; his initial trepidation had yet to give way to full-blown fear. He didn't think the man wanted to harm him. Not with the gentle, almost reflective way in which he was stroking his skin in that absent manner. Soothingly. Hmm. Maybe it was a prelude to something nasty yet to come. Somehow, all his instincts told him otherwise.

Krycek flicked a cursory, admiring glance over him, noting the filling of his cock as it began to rise. "Nice," he commented. "But yeah, I'm a little worried about this bondage fixation you have. I thought we might try and work it out."

"Well it doesn't do it for me to be on the receiving end."

Krycek's brows lifted. "I don't think your body agrees. In fact, I'd say it's downright eager about this." And his grin was evil as he ran his hand lightly up one side of Mulder's erect cock and down the other in a feathery touch.

Mulder hissed in a breath and gave an involuntary, convulsive little shudder. "Come on, Krycek. I never groped you."

"I know, I know. I couldn't help wishing you'd had more balls at the time. Still, there's no reason why I should make you suffer the same way. Scully *was* due back, and it was easier for you to explain away kissing me than it would be if you'd gone down on me. 'Oh, hi there, Scully - don't mind me, just taking care of our unresolved tension.' " Alex laughed aloud. "Can you see it, the look on her face if you'd had a mouthful of my cock when she walked in?" He was chuckling as he ran his hand down Mulder's cock again and then cupped his balls, gently. "Do you want me to go down on you, Mulder?"

Mulder swallowed in a dry throat. "Is that a trick question?"

"Nah. It's a rhetorical one. No one in their right mind would refuse a free offer like that." His hand had wandered down to caress his thigh, slowly.

"Ha. That's assuming you're any good." But Mulder was turning something over in his head. "Alex... Why is it that you've never tried to defend yourself? When I've hit you in the past? You're a decent fighter. Probably a helluva lot better than I am."

Alex's hand stopped moving somewhere over the vicinity of Mulder's waist. There was a sigh in the dim bedroom from the direction of the black shape sitting next to him. Mulder suddenly wished there was better light so he could see him more clearly. The light peeking in from the closed curtains wasn't enough. He wanted to look into his eyes again, see the vulnerability and that plea there, to know this wasn't just another dream.

And the answer, Jesus, the answer when it came: "Why do you *think? *" His voice was almost disparaging. "I care about you, you stupid fuck." He stopped, tilting his head. "I've always found it very telling that you can bring yourself to hit me so easily. A slap here, a punch there, a kick when I'm down, then hand me over to someone else to get in a few good ones afterwards on your behalf. You know, you want to know what I think, *Fox*?" His hand still hadn't moved, but it tightened against him, gripping him where it lay almost absently. "I think you get off on it. It makes you hard to be able to touch me, but you couldn't ever do it without examining why you were doing it, so you put it all down to working out those aggressive tendencies. Pretend it's all just hate and anger and then let loose. Unfortunately, it's more than that to you and you know it. Well, sorry to break the news to you but that's why you can't bring yourself to pull the trigger."

"Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."

A bitter chuckle. "More than you can imagine. Since the first time you struck me, actually. You won't kill me or you would have already. See, I think you want to touch me so badly that you hate it, it makes you choke on it, so you have to find a way to do it that makes you feel big, like you're still in control. But really, if you're honest, you lost it that very first time you hit me. And you never got it back, did you?"

Fear prickled along the outsides and insides of his awareness now. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Foxy. I'm bigger than that. I'm more comfortable with my identity, my sexuality, who I am and all that crap. I don't have any problem at all touching *you*. Think of this as a sort of lesson. One that I realized you were dying to learn when you had me all trussed up and at your mercy last month." He began to stroke him again, lightly, the light touches drawing involuntary squirming from Mulder even as he tried to remain still. "In a way, every blow every time we met was a plea for me to liberate you, wasn't it, Fox?"

"If it makes you happy, Krycek, to justify your actions in believing that-" Mulder retorted.

But Alex cut him off with a sudden grip of Mulder's hard, straining cock that seemed to be ignoring his fear or the points he wanted to make. "Ever wonder why I don't consider myself a lesser being just because I want you? That I can accept the fact I'm attracted to you?"

"Gee, I dunno. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you don't possess the conscience to make the comparison. Or that *I'm* not a murdering liar and a coward, up so deep to my eyes in shit that a bullet really would be the kinder way to go."

He could feel the patient smile in Krycek's reply as the tight, warm hand left his cock. "I know you're only saying that 'cause you're scared. You know, I've never carried a single grudge against you, Foxy. Except one: you left me there with a hard-on and no way of dealing with it."

"Aw, poor baby. What, Scully didn't give you a hand after I left?" Then wished immediately he hadn't said anything. Grumbling rather peevishly, he added, "She felt sorry for you, anyway. Wouldn't let me do anything. And then she got all uptight about it. I couldn't go back up and finish you off."

"Yeah, well, you know Scully. A paragon of virtue and moral fiber. A model citizen. But you're changing the subject." And he grinned as he traced a finger lazily over one nipple and then the other, the grin widening as Mulder's jaw clenched and a ripple of longing went through him visibly. "I'm saying you weren't man enough to give us both what we wanted. Or to even acknowledge it. You never have been. It wasn't all your fault; I mean, I was hardly in a condition to enjoy it. I would've come here sooner if I could. Took a while to recover. Looks like it's up to me to get the job done. *Again*."

Mulder was tired of being played with. "I know this will come as a disappointment to you but I'm really not into the S & M scene."

"I know. But you *are* into the cuff-me, kiss-me, hold-me-down and fuck-me-blind scene. Aren't you, Fox?"

Damn it, that knowing sneer and smile was getting to him. Mulder wanted to grit out to him just get the hell on with it... "Not a fair comparison, Krycek. We had you restrained for you own good and because you were a federal prisoner."

Alex threw his head back and laughed.

Mulder quickly added, "I think this is what *you* want, and by doing this to me, you're trying desperately to show me what it is you expect from me, hoping that I'll give you what you need."

"Now who's the liar, Foxy?" The taunt was accompanied by another quick, deft set of fingers trailing up and down the length of his now-weeping erection. "Sure, I'll take you anyway I can get you. But so will you, you want me just as badly and you'll never admit *that* to anyone, least of all yourself."

He hissed, fighting the impulse to buck up against those damned torturing fingers... "Are you through fucking around? Why don't you just get on with it and let me get back to sleep." He let the anger loose, trying to block out the very real worry that Krycek would discover just how right he was. Because the little warning voice in the back of his head was hysterically shouting over and over again, that they were -

\- both pretending he's seducing you with this, when you both know he's seduced you already by admitting his tears were real, his feelings were real. That he wants you. Still.

But I. Don't. Want. Him. I don't!

And the little voice replying, Liar. Liar. Coward.

Alex was answering, "Are you kidding? You're kidding, right?" The disbelief in Alex's voice was almost comical in its sincerity. "Fox, babe, I'm just getting started here."

A thrilling combination of fear and anticipation swept over him. Sex as a weapon: Mulder had never realized how potent a tool it could be, in combination with psychological debate... Krycek knew both his weaknesses. An enjoyment of scintillating intellectual repartee as well as sex - hot, intense, dirty; but there it was, his answer. He willed his voice to remain steady despite the havoc Krycek's hand was wreaking on his self-control, on his legs, his thighs, the flat of his stomach. "You're the coward, Alex. Or you'd have talked it over with me first, and then let me do this to you. Because it's what *you* really want. You're just too afraid to give yourself over to me."

Alex snorted. "You think? You had the chance and what did you do with it but leave us both hanging?" He was enjoying the gooseflesh that his hand was leaving in its wake.

"Ah, but I was only just discovering it was what I wanted to do to you. You never asked. You weren't in a position to do anything. Now that I know what you want, all you have to do is ask."

"What, you think I trust you just because you kissed me?"

"Hey, if the shoe fits. Remember?"

Alex drew back his hand. "You're right." He was silent momentarily. "Okay. But let me just give you an example of what I mean first. To show you I really mean what I say. After all, trust doesn't come easily to either of us, and I'd like to have something to remember." He grinned suddenly. "Just in case you change your mind and decide to turn me in after all." He stood up and slid his leather jacket off, draping it over the back of the chair. Next, his boots came off. Mulder had to silently admit that it was quite a show; even despite the fact he was stripping one-handed. He managed to do it gracefully.

Mulder cleared his throat. "As if, Alex. Come on. I'm as aware as you are that you won't last long if I do. In fact, I'll give you my word that I won't turn you in - and we both know mine's worth more than yours."

Alex pulled his shirt off. "I'm touched that you care, Fox. But I want this, first. Now." The jeans came down, slowly. Mulder could make out the pale skin even in the darkness as he slowly revealed himself. Biting his upper lip, considering, Alex finally unstrapped the prosthetic as well and laid it down with his clothing on the floor. Now as naked as the man bound to the bed, he put his knee onto the waterbed and began the precariously undulating crawl over to Mulder's side, over him, careful not to fall against him.

Then, he began the assault. Slow, drawn-out, deliberately teasing. Foreplay: he wondered how much Mulder actually got in his encounters... and then wondered how many encounters there had actually been in the last few years.

Mulder's breath hitched inside his lungs as a pair of roaming lips, hot and wetly inching down over burning skin began dissolving his will. Alex deftly avoided the more sensitive areas, having already ascertained them with his exploration earlier.

Moving up again to place his lips against Mulder's neck, he breathed, "When was the last time someone made love to you? I don't mean just sex, going through the motions." He moved to his ear, nibbling at the soft flesh and then inhaling the heady and intoxicating scent that was Mulder, direct from the source. God, the miracle of pheromones. "I mean with real feeling. As if they meant it? Where it wasn't just mutual desperation, but an enjoyment of you? And of giving you pleasure?"

Every word, combined with the sultry, husky voice so rich with equal desire and promise, went straight into Mulder, sinking into his core, his brain, his cock, filling him with the darkest longing. Suddenly the cuffs on his wrists and the restraints on his legs were too much. He jerked against them, straining. He wanted to touch him back. He almost twisted, setting up a wave on the bed that had Alex leaning down, waiting for it to subside. Muttering in a low voice, Alex complained, "Since when were you into waterbeds, Fox? This is going to make us seasick. I thought you preferred the couch, anyway."

Torn between the desire to laugh and explain about the Dreamlands incident, and to beg him to just do it, do something, *anything*, Mulder found himself saying, "For god's sake, Alex! I'm dying here; if you can't handle it, then let me up and I'll do it."

Alex dragged himself to cover Mulder's body with his own, with a look of glee in the dim half-light - Mulder could see it glitter in his eyes. "You haven't answered me yet, Foxy." And continued his maddening ministrations to his neck and other ear.

"It's been too damn long, okay? You don't have to romance me here, Alex, I'm already tied down. Just get on with it."

Alex stopped, lifting his head to regard Mulder's barely-visible expression of impatience. He sighed. "No wonder you don't get laid more often." And then moved down over him to take the head of his cock between his lips.

Mulder nearly choked, strangling, as his surprised desperate thrust upwards at the sensation was met by laughing. Alex pulled back and then pushed him down, holding him still, before returning to run his tongue admiringly all over the flushed head, then enveloping it, and began a slow, agonizing descent and sucking motion.

It was overkill; Mulder was already too far gone and he came, twisting and thrashing against his restraints into the hot cavern of Alex's mouth. The exquisite pleasure crashed into him and rolled over him from the inside out; he couldn't stop from calling out, shouting... his name. Alex swallowed every drop; Mulder was surprised. Somehow he hadn't expected that. Panting, breathlessly trying to remember how to think once more, he heard Alex chuckling slightly, saying, "Well, well, Foxy. I guess good guys like bad boys, after all."

Part 7

Mulder couldn't help flinching as Alex was laying across his legs, pressing him down into the bed with his weight on him, his hand idly stroking his dwindling member and his balls. Mulder was still a little over-sensitive there, the flesh was tender. Swallowing, he tried to gather what little brain-matter was left after the implosion and meltdown. "D'you expect me to do the same for you?"

Alex lifted his head and said in a mockingly shocked tone, "How vanilla of you, Fox. No, I think I'll just stay here until you tell me what you really want."

Mulder paused. "What? What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. Surely your fantasies don't consist of simply giving head in the dark? What do you think about? What do you want to do?" Alex shrugged and indicated the general area of the bedroom. "I mean, this is a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Why not take the opportunity to go ahead and act out all those dark little secret dreams of yours that nobody, least of all Madame Scully, wants to know about?"

He almost had to bite his tongue to stop himself from retorting that he was sick of Alex's comments about Scully. Then he realized that Alex was only doing it out of his own insecurity and jealousy. Why not go for broke, Mulder found himself thinking. He wanted to play? Fine. "I want to fuck you."

The steady, sure and commanding way Mulder stated this stunned Alex; he hadn't been prepared for what simply hearing the man say that out loud would do to his self-control, his composure. The promise and the inherent desire in it made him rethink his ability to carry through with this plan. He began to wonder at his sanity at having even begun.

When Alex didn't respond, Mulder continued, "What, too simple for you? Oh, and you have to be on the bottom."

"Well, I'd be happy to oblige you, *darling*, but there's the small matter of guns and cuffs. Somehow, I can't see you using them on me except to try to bring me in, again."

"I wouldn't turn you over now -" Mulder started.

"I said *try*," grinned Alex. "You were right, I *am* a better fighter than you are, even minus an arm. But no. I'm afraid not. Not this time around, anyway. Tell you what, I'll fuck *you*, instead, and I'll owe you."

This did not appeal to Mulder at all. And it really wasn't what he wanted. He wondered if he should go ahead and tell him about his earlier fantasy... "But you just blew me; you don't expect anything back for that?"

He shrugged again, slightly. "Consider that one on the house. I've been wanting to do it for a while, anyway. Of course, I've also wanted to take you."

Licking his lips, Mulder said, "I really don't think so. I'd rather blow you instead."

Raising his brows, Alex moved to bring himself up full-length on Mulder. His obviously unsatisfied erection was hard and hot against Mulder's uppermost flesh of thigh and lower stomach. "Alright. I won't push you. I must be getting soft in my old age - tell you what though. Sixty-nine is a magic number." And he grinned at him whitely in the dark.

"Still a bit problematic in terms of positioning," mused Mulder. "But how about if I give my word that I won't turn you in. I swear it. This is just between you and me, and we'll keep it that way. I'm not sure I'd be able to explain what were you were doing here, anyway. Cuffed to my bed. I really don't think it would fly."

"Translation: let's keep Scully out of it, she wouldn't like it. Right, Foxy?" Alex was chuckling again.

"I'm glad you can find the future of my professional reputation and my friendship with her so amusing, Alex."

"What reputation?" joked Alex, "Everyone already knows about your porn collection." An urgent and heated kiss followed this though, taking him swiftly by surprise with the depth of its tenderness, before Alex lifted his head. "I'm not laughing at you. I just - I can't believe that you won't use this against me. You've never made a secret about how you feel towards me, in the past. Believe me, I want the same thing you do, but I have a lot more to lose than you do if I let you loose, now." Alex leaned in against him, sighing softly. And Mulder found himself in the rather strange situation of lying there unable to move or reciprocate, with Alex's head on his chest in a touchingly affectionate position, his arm around him, lying against his side with his one hand on his neck.

It felt warm, and comfortable. Strange. To discover how, well, how *cuddly* Alex was. He had never thought the man would be like this. And he wanted to enjoy it, to pretend that it was only what it seemed to be at the moment. But the reality of their relationship, of how they had come to this point, and the fact that Alex was still hard made him think they needed to find some completion. At least before the morning came. Clearing his throat, he said, "Please, Alex. I swear I won't hurt you."

The way he said it left no mistake he might have been referring only to physical threats, and just to make that clear, he added, "I trust you and I believe you're sincere, here. I won't do anything you don't want me to. I want this. I want you, too."

"Mulder." Alex spoke quietly; it was a low whisper in the dark, his breath stirring warmly against Mulder's skin. "I can't ask you to forgive me for all the things I've done. But, I can ask you to forgive me for all the things you *think* I've done."

Mulder turned this over in his head for a bit. "Okay. I forgive you. But only if you let me go."

Alex sighed against him. "I only wanted you to know, just a little bit, what it was like for me, you know. To be on the receiving end. You have no idea how much it hurt, laying there like that with the two of you standing over me, so glad that I was - was - helpless and everything."

"I know. Believe me, I know. Look, it won't be like that, this time. And besides, I won't leave you hanging. We both want this, don't we?"

"Yeah." But the tension was obvious in his reply.

Abruptly, Alex pushed himself up off of Mulder and reached over for the keys at the bedside table, and then upwards to undo both his wrists. Then he undid his ankles. Mulder was glad to move at last, rubbing his wrists. He stretched and clambered off the bed, leaving Alex in his wake as the bed roiled.

"Fun and games," muttered Alex, almost to himself. He sounded worried.

The knowledge of what he was going to do made Mulder's cock spring back to life. He waited for Alex to lay back. He took Alex's wrist and slowly brought it up above his head, to occupy the same place his own had recently been. Snapping the cuff, he couldn't deny the thrill that went through him at the sound. It *did* make him feel powerful. Once more in control of the situation, of their relationship, he wasn't making decisions or speaking from a level of adrenaline and anxiety but of superiority. It was almost heady.

He could hear Alex's breathing had increased in tempo and he smiled down at him. "Don't worry. I told you, I won't do anything you don't want me to. And I'm not going to tie you down. We're going to need your legs free, for what I have in mind."

Alex didn't answer, merely looked up at him with what Mulder could tell was almost a silent entreaty, begging him to go through with it and not change the game into something ugly.

As Mulder stood, it hit him with the brilliance of a light turning on in his head. Turning to look down at the man secured on *his* bed, he allowed himself a moment of triumph. He had managed to pull it off; he'd lured him in, set him up. Somehow, his subconscious had managed to pull it off. This was the exact scenario in his fantasy that he'd wanted, that he'd indulged in, weeks back. Now to go in for the kill. He had the panther *here*, in his territory, on his terms. He almost wanted to laugh but settled for a slow, lazy smile.

The fool had fallen for the oldest game in the book and offered his heart up on a plate - who was he to turn down a meal that offered such a satisfying sense of completeness and revenge? If he couldn't turn him in without killing him, and he wasn't going to go through with actually feeding him a bullet personally, what was left but to - It was unthinkable now, to imagine Alex's death. He realized it had been for some time, too. He'd never actually wanted him dead, merely brought to justice.

Thing was, this time he'd take what he actually wanted. He wasn't as bone-headed as Alex had assumed. Nor was he as sadistic as Alex feared. He was more than aware of the level of sexual tension and mutual attraction that always existed between them.

He brought himself up short without allowing himself to complete it but the little warning voice inside him said, Do you really want to make him scream? Make him suffer? And beg? Plead for mercy, for forgiveness, to return his feelings, to make him feel good/bad/pain/pleasure... How much will you regret it in the morning? Is it worth it? Do you care? How vulnerable will it make you to *his* games? What have you let yourself in for? And how will you look anyone in the face, come tomorrow, least of all yourself? Mulder thoughtfully chewed his lip.

Alex broke through his frozen idyll of indecision with a worried undertone. "Are we gonna do this, then?"

"I want you. I think I always have. But you made it so hard. You made it so fucking difficult for me. I'm not angry anymore. I just - I don't know. A part of me knows that this was inevitable, that there wasn't any other way we were ever going to resolve our differences. Or another way that I was going to forgive you."

Part 8

As if knowing the only way he could appeal beyond the internal battle that was being fought between Mulder's moral judgment center and his body's screaming desire to fuck the man on his bed into next week, Alex relaxed backwards into the bed. He had lifted one knee just a little, it was as if he were posed for a renaissance painting. It was almost obscenely beautiful, this tableau he created with his unconscious sensuality. The 'ruined angel' look. Surrender. The dark hair, the long clean lines of his fighter's body visible even in the half-light, the intense passion yet expectant worry in his face, the wariness of his muscles tensed ever-so-slightly... Mulder found himself devouring him with his eyes on a purely aesthetic level.

And as Alex stared back at him there was only one thing he caught from Mulder: hunger. Alex swallowed and said in a husky voice that was rough with longing and fear, "So do it, Fox. For once in your life."

All the possible meanings of that simple statement rang through Mulder and he had to cling to the ones that he felt safe with. Damn, when had the responsibility of being the 'top' crashed into him and left him feeling like the one who stood the most to lose? He could feel the danger to *himself*, in his own conscience and the wicked impulse to punish him and draw strength from it. Power and sex. He was taking too long to do anything. He licked his lips.

Alex was tense. And afraid now, he could see it in him. And it was echoed in his voice. "Fox, please." And unspoken, 'don't back out now'.

Mulder realized he could assuage both his conscience and his desire at the same time. He would punish him with pleasure, and in doing so, take Alex's pride, his heart, his need to be saved. By taking him like this and stripping him of even his male dignity, he could forgive him. To have him like a victor taking a vanquished enemy... This was almost enough to bring him off, standing there. He thought, get on with it, just finish it. "Hold on."

He moved to the bedside cabinet and opened the drawer, taking out a bottle of lube and a condom. He opened the packet and rolled it on. Applying a generous amount to slick his cock, he heard Alex inhale sharply as he watched.

Alex, for his part, felt his face flush hot as Mulder then climbed on the bed to kneel between his legs and push them upwards and apart.

Without a word, Mulder pressed a wet finger between his asscheeks and then slowly slid the tip into him, up to the first knuckle, loving the way Alex sucked in a breath. He began to move it in and out, then added another finger.

"F-fox, *please*. I'm not gonna last much longer if you don't..." Alex's voice was broken.

With a slow deliberation and a feeling of inevitability, yet filled with a curious mixture of power and gentleness, Mulder withdrew his fingers and moved up to press himself against him, maneuvering the head of his cock against his anus. Pushing in slowly, feeling the tight, heated ring of muscle give slightly as Alex choked out a gasp, he brought both his hands to Alex's hips and leaned over. Catching his mouth beneath his in an almost reassuring kiss, he concentrated on pushing into him several more inches. Deep, upwards, right up into that hot, silky velvety melting tight grip... This was too sweet. "Oh, *god*," he said, against Alex's mouth.

Alex found himself unable to do anything but groan as he was filled with Mulder... *Fox Mulder*... and was then couldn't do anything but babble. "Fox, god, just fuck me. Fuck me, harder! Come on, fuck, now, just - fucking *do* it!"

Mulder couldn't help but oblige at this point, immediately surging forward into that hot depth. He snapped his hips up and back in a hard, short motion, thrusting forward into him with jerky little movements, pressing against that hard little secret place deep inside him almost instinctively.

Their skin was too hot; it had gone way beyond anything they thought they could handle. Alex's body was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and Mulder found himself licking it, the smell of him filling his nostrils with wanting to taste him, to bite him, reaching an animal need that drove him deeper into him with a happy, hard forcefulness. He sank his teeth into his shoulder at some point.

Alex was nearly incoherent under him, writhing against him, bucking back against him with every thrust, his words punctuated with little intakes of breath. "Touch me, y-your hand, now! Please! God, Fox! Oh fuck, please, g-god, *fuck*!..."

Mulder lifted up slightly, breaking rhythm momentarily to reach down a hand and grab Alex's begging cock while bracing himself in the waves of the waterbed as it moved under their bodies. It was like fucking in the goddamned sea or something... Not that he cared much at the moment. Alex said something that he couldn't understand. The need to let go, to just *fuck* the man under him with abandon overtook him and he drove into him hard, and harder and faster... Shit, he wasn't going to last at this rate. That hot, slick tight channel was pulsing around his cock in a way that made it absolutely imperative that he fuck him as hard as he could.

Alex let go. To feel Mulder inside him, after all this time... all the times he'd wondered what it would be like. It was almost like being home. With a choked scream, Alex's cream was flying up to land on his stomach and both their chests. Delightful abandon, giving himself up over and over again, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear anything else as a shivery wave of heat raced over his skin, rising from his toes all the way up his body.

His orgasm brought Mulder's on and Mulder was jerking against him to come deep inside of him; dark, hot, fuck - just... just...

Mulder found himself calling out something, he thought it might be Alex's name but wasn't sure it made sense. Words didn't anymore. He couldn't find any. Didn't matter. Nothing else did, except the feeling of Alex under him.

He couldn't stop himself from sinking forward against him, partially pulling out of him as he continued to feel little pulsing aftershocks. "Fuck! Oh, shit... yes. Oh, god... Alex -" Panting, he said, "I've never, never..."

Alex's only reply was an open-mouthed moan.

Their skin was wet in that lovely, freshly-fucked feeling and neither of them could move. God, I love you. Fox. Alex winced as he tried to remember if he'd said it aloud when he came, or if Mulder had realized. Mulder was collapsed on top of him. Finally, Alex managed, "Uh, Fox? You'd better move, or we're going to be stuck like this."

Mulder groaned and shifted, attempting to move and struggling to regain his balance as he lifted himself upwards. The bed seemed to be conspiring against them now. When he made it to the edge of the bed and swung his feet over onto floor and stood, Alex felt a cold little rivulet of worry - surely he wouldn't leave him cuffed?

Mulder went to the bathroom and Alex was unable to do anything but lay there and wonder if the passage of time was as painful as he imagined, or if the surrealism of his situation was only in his own head. But Mulder returned with a warm, wet towel and laid it on him before turning the key in the cuffs and releasing him. The relief that flooded Alex was almost enough to make him lightheaded so he wasn't really prepared for the sensation of Mulder laying down beside him and kissing him hard on the mouth.

Stunned by the affection of the gesture, he absently rubbed his wrist against his body and picked up the towel. Mulder moved to take it too though, from him, and began to clean the come from his body. For the sake of saying something, Alex said, "Should we bother with a shower, do you think?"

"No. Save it for later."

Mulder's smile reached into him and twisted a secret place inside of him that he had always kept guarded. It was easier to acknowledge it in the darkness. It filled him before he could stop it; it was filling up his chest and he didn't really want to identify it. "So, can I stay, then?"

"If you try to leave, I'll shoot you." Mulder pulled the covers over them both and began snuggling into his side against him, wrapping his arms around him in a hold that he couldn't really get away from and frankly, didn't want to even if he could.

Long minutes passed comfortably. Alex basked in his embrace. Warm and secure, something addictive and worth arguing for, worth any price he might have to pay - that they *both* might later find themselves having to pay. Something he never had imagined he might ever have. Alex whispered against him, his eyes closed, "Is there a chance, do you think, that we might repeat this?"

Mulder's voice sounded tired. "For god's sake, Alex. You already come and go from here as you please. Maybe I should make you a cat door."

"Kinky. Want me crawling in on my knees, do you?"

"Jesus, if I'd known you were this needy..." but he took the sting from his words with a smile heard in the dark and kissed him companionably on the cheek. "I'm just glad you picked a Friday night to drop in."

Alex grinned. "Yeah, I figured whichever way it went, we'd need time to ourselves after, to assimilate and whatnot."

"Yeah? Assimilate *this*." Mulder captured his mouth again, hot and wet and open, plundering him shamelessly with his tongue. When Mulder pulled back, he was left speechless again. Mulder took this opportunity. "Alex, just tell me one thing. You have an iron-clad set of justifications for why you do the things you do, right?"

Alex stopped, freezing at the sudden seriousness in his voice. "I do what I have to. It's up to you whether you believe that or not. But I don't do things for my own amusement, if that's what you mean. I'm not into running around at the Syndicate's beck and call just for kicks. And they'd be fools if they thought I was only doing it for the perks. What little of those there are. Hey, I don't expect you to trust me blindly. But if you can believe that you mean to me exactly what I said you do, that's enough."

"Are you talking about when you were feverish, delirious? Or tonight?"

"Both, I guess."

Mulder sniffed. "Mm. Fine. That's good enough for me." He pulled him closer and snuggled in against him in a manner that was unmistakably meant to suggest sleep.

As Mulder's breath slowly went even and shallow, Alex remained awake in the darkness, contenting himself with lightly stroking Mulder's upper arm and running his fingers through his hair. He smiled, letting the luxury of lazy relaxation in the intimacy of it all settle inside him, replacing the usual insistence of knife-edge reaction time and watching for danger. To a limit, of course. Couldn't afford to pretend that the absurdity of the two of them together wasn't a risk to both of them. The insanity of pursuing a regular, repeated liaison in the future appealed to him immensely.

finis

  
Archived: 20:24 03/04/01 


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